Man Boobs
To the mind of a twelve year-old boy, man boobs are the most terrifying things in world, save for, perhaps, testicular torsion (which is exactly what it sounds like).
The clinical term for the former condition is gynecomastia, and I am happy to say that I am not afflicted by it. However, despite my fortunate lack of infertile breasts, man boobs have actually done me quite a disservice over the last decade, and I’ve only just realized it.
The footage of the fateful day is still stashed away in the back of my head.
7th grade, lunchtime. We were standing just where the blacktop and grass met, waiting for our regular pickup football game to begin. I was talking to Sean Dougherty (who I haven’t seen in nearly fifteen years), and we were discussing his terrible difficulties with allergies.
“I have to take Claritin every day for the rest of my life,” he said, lowering his voice and grimacing as if this were a horrible burden. We nodded in somber understanding. Someone asked about the side effects.
“Well, I heard it causes man boobs,” he said. We shuddered. He corrected himself: “I’m okay though, I just heard it can cause it.”
The memory ends there — which is bizarre, because that one scene is as vivid as if I’d just stuck my face in a Pensieve (lol harry potter reference!). Sidenote: Google Docs suggests “Penises” as an alternate spelling.
Anyway. Over the last five years I’ve gradually had to come to terms with the fact that I suffer from mild allergies. Nothing major, mind you — I’ve never had a sneezing fit or anything— but just enough to give me a slight sniffle and the faintest itch on my eyeballs.
Years ago I went to an allergist, who prescribed a variety of nasal sprays and eye drops. Alas, these did nothing to help. I did learn, however, that anything you put in your eyes or up your nose will eventually start to drip down the back of your throat, where you get to taste it.
He also recommended that I try Claritin, which I did for exactly one day before deciding it gave me a headache. In retrospect I’m certain my subconscious sabotaged the affair as it contemplated my soon-to-be blossoming chest. And so my half-hearted journey to cure my mildly annoying allergies continued.
Once — and I’m not joking here — I want to an Ear Nose and Throat specialist who stuck a camera up my nose, took a peek, and exclaimed, “Wow, that’s different!”. He then ran to grab his assistant who was equally impressed by my inverted something-or-other. And you people think I’m making this shit up about being from a different planet.
I gave up on my quest. It hasn’t been that bad. I am pretty hardcore.
But then, a few weeks back, a mildly amusing thing happened. My father (who is undoubtedly the genetic donor of my allergies) mentioned that Claritin worked really well for him. I decided to do a little research on Google (which didn’t exist back in those formative middle-school years). And, as far as I could tell, Claritin appeared to have absolutely nothing to do with gynecomastia.
You already know how this ends. I started taking Claritin. My itchy eyes are gone, and — bonus — my singing voice is improving (stuffed sinuses can have an adverse effect on sexy throatiness).
And my pecs are firmer than ever. You can see a photo here.
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